


The T Tattoo

by raelee514



Series: Tattoo [2]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M, Tattoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 19:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13037553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raelee514/pseuds/raelee514
Summary: Thomas stared at his profile and watched breath and smoke curl out of Jimmy's mouth.   It was the last puff of his cigarette and Jimmy snuffed it out against the wall.  His wrist flexing with the turn of it and the T dark against his skin.  Thomas stared at it and felt the question on his tongue.  The one everyone asked but him…“Jimmy does it…”“Please don’t…”  Jimmy turned to him, and his expression was pleading.  “Please, Thomas don’t.”





	1. Chapter 1

“Jimmy there has to be a meaning to it…” Ivy said. Again. Everyone was asking him the same question over and over again. Thomas was tired of hearing, tired of people trying to pull answers out of Jimmy. 

“Well, there isn’t… I was squiffy,” Jimmy muttered, and he struck his fingers against piano keys, loudly and brashly. Thomas watched Ivy from the rocking chair and wondered how long it would take her to realize she’d been dismissed. But she was naive and silly as always and continued to hover by Jimmy as he played something Thomas didn’t recognize, his face dark and jaw clenched. He was glaring at Ivy, without pretense and kept tightening and untightening his shoulder’s in annoyance. 

“I just don’t believe it,” Ivy said.

“Well, do, will ya,” Jimmy snapped at her. “It doesn’t mean anything.” 

“Then why get it?”

“I was bloody off me head,” he snapped at her. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Why not?”

“Ivy, go away,” Jimmy said, glaring right at her brows furrowed. “Go!” 

Thomas watched her flinch and enjoyed it. She tensed up, and her features fell with hurt, her entire face confused because she didn’t understand. She didn’t understand Jimmy at all — and she never would. Thomas puffed on his cigarette and gloated where he sat. He was the only one who understood Jimmy — the only one. 

“Don’t need to be rude,” Ivy muttered, and she turned around and left the room. 

Jimmy’s entire body relaxed the moment she vanished from sight. He started playing the song less brashly. Thomas watched him and frowned. He thought maybe he turn toward him, talk to him, now that she was gone. But instead he seemed intent to get lost in the music. It was something he did often, when he wanted to escape everything around him. Thomas smoked and Jimmy played the piano. As he played the cuff rose up again, and Thomas found his eyes on the tattoo… 

Bold, black, in a simple script. A T. His heart stuttered at the sight of it. He tried to stop it, but it happened every time he saw it. He told himself he was pitiful. It meant nothing. It was just a letter — Jimmy been off his head — all of Jimmy’s excuses and reasons for why it meant nothing rushing around in his head. 

But he knew Jimmy. He knew he would never mar his skin without thought — he was too egotistical. He was too proud of his appearance, not even off his head would he blindly do something that marred his skin — not that it lessened his beauty at all. If anything Thomas found himself more drawn to the bend of Jimmy’s wrist, noticing the muscles of it and his forearm as his eyes dragged down the T. Or focused on his hands as his eyes dragged up the T and saw the size and strength of his fingers. He loved Jimmy’s hand, they were capable and deft — graceful but bold. 

Thomas stared at the T, watched the skin underneath move and bend as Jimmy played what sounded like an angry song. It as brash and annoying and Thomas knew it was because Jimmy was annoyed with himself, with the tattoo, with everyone’s reactions. 

And it was why Thomas had yet to share his own… He would probably never share his reaction. Because try as he might, as often as he replayed Jimmy’s angry reactions to everyone else’s questions… He couldn’t help feeling like the T was meant for Thomas. 

It was stupid fantasy. It was a pitiful wish. His heart pounded hard at the thought of it. The weight of it, if it was true — that Jimmy chose to mark himself with Thomas’s name. It was a lie, though, Thomas told himself. Reminded himself he was a daft git who hoped when he shouldn’t… 

Saw signs and things where there was nothing but darkness. Jimmy would never care about him the way Thomas wished. He couldn’t let stupid letter on his wrist give him hope.

“James. Cover your wrist and stop that infernal racket.” 

Carson startled them both, Thomas jolted in his seat, and he watched Jimmy’s body spasm, his fingers messing up notes. He sat straighter and yanked down the cuff. Carson scolding him to cover it up was becoming a daily refrain — and Thomas wondered if it would ever stop. Or if Carson would be staring at Jimmy’s left arm for the sight of it, simply as an excuse to shout him down? 

“I need a cigarette,” Jimmy said, and Thomas blinked. He was looking right at him, with a desperate expression and silent, _help me._ He stood straight up and nodded. He walked right out of the servant’s hall, Jimmy behind him, knowing Thomas wouldn’t let him down. And he wouldn’t, Thomas thought — he strife to never let Jimmy down. 

It was cold outside, their breath on the air, and it was lightly snowing — flurries coming and going with gusts of wind. They lit their cigarettes and leaned against the brick of the alcove and smoked. It was quiet and the cold, the snow seemed to heighten it. Thomas closed his eyes, he breathed in the smoke, he breathed in the crispness of the winter air, and he breathed in Jimmy. He was standing close enough that Thomas could smell him… he had no words for it, it was simply male, and it was perfect. It relaxed him. It was a private pleasure. 

“I don’t remember…” Jimmy broke the silence. 

“Bloody well hope not… if you could wouldn’t have gotten it would’ve you?”

“Carson’s making me dust… I’m not a bloody maid.”

“He’ll let up soon enough.”

“No, I’ll run out of rooms, that they never bloody use, and he’ll order me to start it all over again…” he yawned. “I’m knackered.”

“Go up.” Thomas glanced at him and saw his exhaustion under his eyes and the way he was holding his shoulders. 

“And let him see he’s won…” Jimmy snorted. 

“You wouldn’t have right?” Thomas pressed.

“Gotten it?” Jimmy shrugged. “Don’t know.”

“Really?”

“Was talking to the guy who did it… remember that much. He was giving a hard sell, but it was… Don’t know liked the idea of it, getting something that meant…” he stopped short. 

Thomas stared at his profile and watched breath and smoke curl out of Jimmy's mouth. It was the last puff of his cigarette and Jimmy snuffed it out against the wall. His wrist flexing with the turn of it and the T dark against his skin. Thomas stared at it and felt the question on his tongue. The one everyone asked but him…

“Jimmy does it…”

“Please don’t…” Jimmy turned to him, and his expression was pleading. “Please, Thomas don’t.”

His heart stuttered again with that asinine hope, and he forgot how to breathe at the desperation in Jimmy’s eyes that he not ask the question. It was a simple question, and Jimmy answered a million times. 

“I can’t lie to you…” Jimmy whispered and his face flushed, his eyes widened, and he looked away from Thomas. He hadn’t meant to say it, his voice been low enough they could pretend he hadn’t, but Thomas wasn’t sure he wanted too. “Please…” Jimmy said his voice desperate for Thomas to listen.

He raised his cigarette to his lips. To stop himself from asking the question. To stop himself from pressing Jimmy for the truth — he was the only one who would hear it. But Jimmy didn’t want to say it, and that was making him hope. He closed his eyes and breathed in the air again, the smoke, Jimmy and told himself to stop. 

He knew the truth. Jimmy would never see him as Thomas wished him too. Nothing changed, it wasn’t anything, there was something Jimmy didn’t want to share with the world… 

“It’s your tattoo,” he said.

“Yeah…” Jimmy breathed out, and it turned into a yawn. 

“Carson’s gone up by now,” Thomas said and fought against images of tucking Jimmy into bed himself. He was soft and pathetic. 

“Suppose.” Jimmy didn’t move, and he looked at Thomas. Something in his eyes that made Thomas’ heart rate speed up. He was staring at him, Thomas realized, and he stared right back. Felt a daring thrum through him, it was always there right behind his hope. The need to act on it, to dive in and he never seemed to learn when all it lead to was hurt. Jimmy lurched forward suddenly, away from the wall and turned away from Thomas. His eyes on the ground but he looked up, and Thomas could count his lashes. 

“Good night,” Thomas whispered needing to say it first but understanding why. 

“Yeah…” the word sounded so indefinite. 

“They’ll all get bored with it, you know. Stop asking.”

Jimmy snorted. “Abnormal though isn’t it… lucky, I didn’t get fired.”

“Was a mistake, your gloves hide it upstairs. Crawley’s will never know.”

“Carson does.”

“He’ll get tired of yelling.” 

Jimmy raised an eyebrow at him.

“Maybe not,” Thomas laughed. 

“He’s appalled and disgusted…”

“Wouldn’t know that feeling…” 

“He’s full of shite…” Jimmy hissed, and he was staring at Thomas again. 

“It’s just some ink,” Thomas heard himself say despite knowing the topic wasn’t the tattoo.

“It just…” Jimmy sighed, and he stepped backward. Deliberately. 

Thomas wished it didn’t hurt. 

“Good night…” Jimmy turned around.

Thomas watched him walk away and lit another cigarette. He was shaking, and hope was licking against him from the inside out. He inhaled on his cigarette, trying to get the smoke to bring him back to reality. To stop seeing Jimmy’s eyes laced with vulnerability and the possibility of what Thomas wanted to hear. He leaned against the brick wall, let the stone dig into to him through the layers of his livery. He closed his eyes and counted, waiting for another gust of cold wind and thought maybe it would cool him down. Maybe it would slow his heartbeat and help him to stop. 

Stop hoping.

Stop wanting.

Stop thinking about the tattoo. 

A T on the wrist of the man he loved. 

_Thomas._

His own name was the beat of his heart. 

The cold was doing nothing to stop it. His memory heard Jimmy’s whisper of not wanting to lie to him — he was supposed to pretend he hadn’t heard it but he had, and it was louder and louder. The hope was in his veins, and it was keeping him warm despite feeling the winter against his skin, numbing his cheeks. But he wasn’t numb inside, and not one pragmatic thought would take seed in his brain. 

Jimmy had always been honest, he promised him nothing but friendship. It was a gift, and Thomas wasn’t egotistical enough to think he deserved it. He hadn’t, he’d crossed a line.

He wanted to try again, wanted to cross it, test it, see if the line was in the same place… was in permanent in one position or had things changed it, blurred it, moved it closer to what Thomas craved. 

_Thomas._

He knew Jimmy’s parent's names. He knew Jimmy. There was nothing else in his life that started with a T but Thomas… He closed his eyes and tried to tell himself it was music, something he didn’t know or understand. Jimmy had his secrets, he kept pieces of him a mystery to Thomas — doling them out in fragments with flirty smiles. He was dangerous, Thomas knew that Jimmy was fire and sunlight and he could destroy Thomas. 

Would. If Thomas let him. 

And how he wanted to let him. 

It was him. 

It was him.

He was tattooed into Jimmy’s skin. 

“No…” he muttered. He couldn’t believe such a fancy, it wasn’t true, that look of being lost in Jimmy’s eyes wasn’t about Thomas. He was being vain, narcissistic, he was foolish to think he, that he could have any effect on Jimmy — not that way Jimmy could rock him to his core with just a look. No, he held no power like that over Jimmy. It went one direction. That was life. His life. One way only. He loved Jimmy, but Jimmy was only his friend. 

Feeling the cold with the next gust of wind, he pushed himself off the wall and followed the footsteps Jimmy left in the snow into the Abbey. He made his way up the stairs and tried to ignore the hope, tried to tamp it down, tried to tell himself he was creating a fantasy. But it was getting clearer, instead, he wasn’t listening to himself, he was arguing, and he was pinpoint focused on Jimmy’s whispers…

_Can’t lie to you. Don’t…_

He was pleading, and it was breaking down Thomas’ strength, his ability to step away from his foolish thoughts, the imaginations that always came to him unbidden. He could remind himself they were fancies. Lies. It was no harm to think them but to act up on them? 

“No,” he whispered to himself as he walked into his room. He stripped out of his clothes with near violence. He yanked on his pajama bottoms and went to pull off his undershirt but stopped short. Jimmy begging him not to ask him in his head. Over and Over. The look in his eyes, the way he stared at him when told him Carson was wrong — about him, about Thomas. 

That T. Bloody bold on Jimmy’s wrist. 

Hope pounded in his chest, and he turned and walked out of his room. He walked to Jimmy’s room and stared at the closed door. He couldn’t breathe for a moment, and he braced his hands on the wall. Maybe a voice in his head told him to turn back, but if it was there it was too quiet…

Normally he would bend his own will to give Jimmy what he wanted. But, no, no his hope raised up so far it was choking him. He knocked on the door, sharply and finished it with calling out Jimmy’s name through the wood.


	2. Chapter 2

Jimmy jolted awake to someone shouting his name. He gripped his pillow reflexively and listened. Silence. Sleep started to pull him under when three sharp knocks shook his door. 

“Jimmy.”

He groaned. Irritated it was Thomas because it had him rolling out of the bed to open the door. His shoulders and legs ached from moving furniture to dust under it. Furniture the Crawley’s asses hadn’t touched in centuries. Carson needed to stop using him a bloody maid. There were more knocks on the door, and Jimmy whined at the insistence. “Wuh?” he asked as he opened the door and gave Thomas sleepy glare. 

Thomas pushed into the room. Jimmy stumbled to the side a bit and thought about shouting at Thomas about inviting himself in, but he always walked into Thomas room without even knocking. Thomas stood by the foot of the bed and Jimmy blinked, his eyes slowly coming into better focus. The room was gray with a bit of moonlight filtered in. It meant he saw Thomas clearly enough, in pajama bottoms and his undershirt. He shivered a bit as he stared at the fabric of the shirt, tight over Thomas’ chest…he tried to tell himself it was cold. He wasn’t wearing a vest….

He wasn’t wearing a vest. He blushed and looked around, but there wasn’t one nearby to grab. He had been in too much of hurry to sleep, he stripped down out of his dirty things and only pulled on a pair sleep pants before diving into his bedding and crashing right into sleep. 

“Jimmy…” Thomas’ voice was clipped. 

“What?” he said his voice clearer and his eyes found their way to Thomas’ face. Thomas was staring at his chest, and he thought maybe he should be upset about it — but where had he been staring? No, he wasn’t going to think about it, he wasn’t… “What!” he snapped as Thomas remained silent. 

“The tattoo…”

He grabbed his left wrist with his right hand. He covered the tattoo with it and stepped backward. “Don’t…” he plead.

“I have…”

“No, you don’t…” Jimmy shook his head and looked at the floor. 

The wood creaked as Thomas closed the space between. He stepped close, too close to Jimmy, but it wasn’t an odd thing. It wasn’t odd at all, they stood closer and closer every day when they went out to smoke. Jimmy feared what they'd do when the space ran out, and their body's just touched… 

“Please, Jimmy is it…” 

“Don’t…” Jimmy shook his head. 

“Is it?” Thomas whispered. “Tell me.”

Lying was never hard for him. He lied every day of his life. He lied to people because they had no rights to his real thoughts and feelings. He said what women wanted to hear and winked at Mrs. Patmore just because he knew it would make her smile. He flirted with Ivy because it bothered Alfred and it was fun to toy with him. He lied every time he was asked about the tattoo and refused to look at Thomas when he did it…

Thomas should be in on he secret, he thought. He was his best mate. But he lied to Thomas too — but it ate at him. It bothered him. It was a squirming in his chest, and he felt guilty. It got worse and worse. The tattoo was making it worse — ever since he got it, it was almost impossible to look Thomas in the eye. 

He liked Thomas’ eyes, but he wasn’t looking at them. The room was all gray light thought, he thought idly maybe they were the exact same shade. And he wanted to look, but he would give too much away. He turned around instead, put his back to Thomas to take away the temptation to look at his face, to meet his stormy eyes. 

He dropped his right hand from his left. He looked at the tattoo on his wrist. The T screaming at him. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Please don’t ask?”

He felt Thomas’ breath on his shoulder. He moved even closer to him, his back was to Thomas’ chest. He felt the body heat, he smelled the cigarettes, pomade and him. He smelled Thomas and lied to himself, told himself he didn’t like the scent. It was too male. It was too wild. It wasn’t what he was supposed to like or crave or… 

“Jimmy…” Thomas hand reached out and grabbed his left hand. The glove felt scratchy against his skin, unexpected when Thomas was so undressed otherwise. Thomas held his wrist and dragged his thumb across the ink of the tattoo. “Is it?”

Pretend, he thought. Pretend you don’t know the question. Pretend you don't understand this moment. Pretend. Pretend. Pretend. 

“Tell me.”

“What do you want to hear?” he whispered and made himself panic. That wasn’t pretending. That wasn’t shutting anything down, that was opening the door. His heart was in his throat, and he wanted to run, he looked at his wrist. He felt Thomas thumb… dragging across the inked skin. Dragging down the T and then across the top of it. His hand was cool against Jimmy’s skin, he felt hot, his skin felt on fire. 

“You know…” Thomas breathed in his ear. “You know what.”

Jimmy closed his eyes, caught up in all the sensations and the truth screaming in his mind. The truth that stared at him all day, inked into his skin over his pulse point. Off his head, he done what he never would have done in the light of day — chosen what his heartbeat whispered to him every damn day. 

_Thomas_

“Please,” Thomas begged. 

“It’s…it’s that innit?” Jimmy whispered his throat felt choked by his heart. His eyes flew open, expecting the world to tilt on him, for something loud to crash and something to change and break. He was whispering it out loud, after all, the truth. 

“Say it…” Thomas’ lips touched the rim of his ear. 

“You. Innit… Thomas,” he said and the world wasn’t threatened to shatter to pieces. 

But he was spun. Quite literally. Thomas’ hand on his waist and shoulder, spinning him around to face him. Thomas staring right into his eyes, his own eyes wide, his mouth hung open and his breath harsh…

Jimmy heard hope in Thomas’ quick hitched inhales. 

“Jimmy?” Thomas looked shocked, and he almost laughed at him. He'd come in, all sure and confident, pressing into Jimmy’s space. All bold and asking questions no sane man would…

But only a brave man could and wasn’t it… Jimmy started falling before those thugs fists hit Thomas’ face. Years later and that was still the worst and best moment of his life. He'd run. Then. He'd run still… 

He'd run and run until another drunk night got him into trouble. But Thomas wasn’t there to stop him from letting someone take a needle to his skin. And he bloody asked the man to put a letter to the truth he never wanted to admit to himself. 

“Yes,” he whispered now and suddenly felt easy to breathe again. He looked into Thomas shocked but hopeful eyes. “Yes, it’s your bloody name, innit.” 

“Oh,” Thomas smiled. 

“Oh,” Jimmy echoed.

“I…yes.” It was a whisper, spoken so low in Thomas’ throat Jimmy thought he imagined it. But then he wasn’t thinking at all because Thomas’ lips were pressed against his and he was tasting cigarettes and feeling desire. He was feeling lips that were softer than he imagined. And he had imagined kissing Thomas, touching Thomas. He imagined it alone in the dark and told himself they were just ghosts of thought before he fell into sleep. 

But it was real. As real as this moment. The kiss was feather light, it was barely there, it was a whispered hope — and Thomas hovered, ready to step away and whisk the moment away into nothing. Their lips with a sliver of space between them, his question hung there. Did Jimmy want to press forward or pretend there was nothing to remember?

_Yes._

He surged forward remembering he knew how to kiss. He was good at kissing. His hands rose up and grabbed at Thomas’ vest, pulling the fabric, pulling Thomas closer to him. He parted his lips, and Thomas moaned into his mouth as his tongue flicked forward and inside of Jimmy.

He felt hands on his skin, skimming up his ribs. He laughed at the tickle of it, and Thomas used it to deepen the kiss, his hand on Jimmy’s pressed, pushing him closer into Thomas hold. Jimmy hands found Thomas hair and buried fingers into it and pushed at his head. Then it was all tongues, and ragged breathing and Jimmy felt himself tilting. 

He froze for the briefest of moments, his eyes finding Thomas gaze. His blown pupils but his gaze was full of adoration, and it spoke of safety. Jimmy was in his arms, and he was about to fall safely to the bed. He nodded and wondered if Thomas was asking for the permission. The mattress dipped, and the bed creaked. Then Thomas' mouth was on his jaw, and Jimmy closed his eyes, hands going down Thomas’ back, tugging at the fabric of his vest. Pulling it and forcing Thomas to move upward and let Jimmy rip it completely off of him. 

Thomas' mouth was on his neck the second he leaned down again, pressing wet kisses, trailing down to his collarbone, licking Jimmy’s skin with his tongue. Jimmy leaned up into it, he ran his hand down Thomas back and thought it was simple to be with a man. All the issues in his head vanishing into nothing as Thomas made him moan as he pulled his nipple into his mouth. 

“Thomas…’ it punched out of him.

And Thomas lunged up and pressed their mouths together. Jimmy’s hands on his chest and on his back, in his hair, because Thomas kissing down his chest again and his hips thrust upward, his cock pressing against Thomas' thigh. He closed his eyes and felt like he was flying. Thomas was taking away solid ground. And he was yanking on his pants, causing Jimmy’s hips to roll up and off the bed and the air was cold against his heated skin. He shivered and, up, he took in his naked body and his cock against his stomach hard and glistening, and he licked his lips as he looked up to look at Thomas.

He was staring at Jimmy’s cock, expression dark and needy. His eyes flicked up and their gazes locked. Jimmy nodded and found himself holding his breath as he wondered what Thomas was about to do to him. Take him in hand, take him in his mouth. What he did was nose at his balls, pressed his nose against his cock and trail upward. , he licked him, up to the tip and wrapped his mouth around him. 

The sensations were new, they were different, and they were divine. He fell apart, he bit his lip to try to keep from moaning too loud. He put his hand against it, teeth against his knuckles as Thomas' tongue swirled around the head of his cock. His hips bucked up, and Thomas shoved them down, his left hand digging into Jimmy’s hip. They stared at each other and Jimmy sighed when Thomas swallowed him down. He fell, all his insides flipped, he felt pinned down by Thomas strength, but the flat of his tongue on the underside of his cock and like he was flying. 

And he laughed because he been afraid of what? This? Pleasure? He reached out and put his hands in Thomas’ air, and gray eyes flicked up and looked right them. He felt another laugh leave his mouth, through lips curled up in a grin…one wider than he knew he was capable. 

Thomas sighed, his mouth relaxing around Jimmy. He watched Thomas body uncoil with something that was keeping him too rigid, too held together — his mask was gone, and everything his tongue, lips, and teeth were doing had Jimmy trying to buck his hips down his throat. 

“Thomas…” he was falling apart, quicker than he knew he could but Thomas sinful red lips, Thomas left hand dug into his hip, Thomas long slender fingers wrapped around the base of his cock…. It was more than he knew, his own hand would never do again and no one, no one could touch this… 

“Fuck…” he breathed and then whimpered as Thomas' mouth left him, with the sound of a pop and Jimmy noticed how wet both Thomas lips and his cock were. Thomas stroked up, dragging his thumb over the head much like he’d dragged across the tattoo. “Why are you…” Jimmy tried to accuse him, tried to convey with his eyes that Thomas shouldn’t stop. 

“Don’t want it over too soon…” Thomas’ smile was smug.

“Bastard…”

Thomas bent down, he nuzzled against Jimmy, his nose pressing up his cock and Jimmy clutched at the sheets of his bed. “So beautiful…” Thomas whispered and maybe Jimmy wasn't supposed to hear it, but he did… 

Thomas Barrow thought his cock was beautiful. 

“What else did you expect,” came out his mouth with easy pride. 

“Never this,” Thomas whispered. 

“Point…” Jimmy whined as Thomas flick his tongue against the head. “God… swallow me down again already.” 

He fucked down his throat as Thomas obeyed, one hand not enough to stop him and Jimmy felt himself fall apart because Thomas just swallowed him down. His shoved a fist in his mouth out of blind instinct and hissed out Thomas name as his entire world was fundamentally rearranged and there was no going back…

 

And he realized it didn’t scare him at all.


End file.
